


Another Word for Nothing Left to Lose:  A continuation of Redrikki’s work.

by TwentyoneTwelve



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Gen, Phase 2, Redrikki, Rogue Robin 2017, callsign 006, continuation of story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-15
Updated: 2017-04-15
Packaged: 2018-10-19 05:03:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10632789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwentyoneTwelve/pseuds/TwentyoneTwelve
Summary: When Obi-Wan told him he was free at Qui-Gon's funeral, Anakin took him at his word. There may, however, have been something of misunderstanding.Anakin seeks his own destiny on the streets of Naboo, while Obi -Wan seeks council from a dangerous source.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Another Word for Nothing Left to Lose](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9818243) by [Redrikki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redrikki/pseuds/Redrikki). 



The rain had eased, but by no means stopped. Anakin was saturated. Each step, squelching in his soft boots, feeling as though water oozed out of his pore with each breath, felt like the rudest of gestures pulled behind Watto’s back, unrepeatable phrases in Huttese whispered where the Jedi couldn’t hear.

He nibbled at one of his rolls, a casualty of the water that had seeped through the loose seem of his satchel. He could do anything he wanted, and there was so much he wanted. It terrified him, how much he could want. If anyone guessed, if he told anyone, then they would know exactly how to hurt him. Freedom was no promise of safety. It just gave him another intangible thing that could be taken away.

There were still people on the main streets – far more than he’d ever seen in the wake of a sandstorm – walking slowly as the rain became more mist-like, sun sparkles appearing on the puddles and highlighting the bright jewellery and embroidery that decorated rain-dimmed clothing.

Anakin walked steadily, in the familiar gait of observing while simultaneously being unnoticeable and solid enough to be too much trouble to threaten. He felt his steps lengthen, matching the other pedestrians. One of the knots in his belly loosened with the easy swing of his arms.

*

“My dear Obi-Wan,” Senator -no he was Chancellor, and wore the ornate robes as if born to it, Palpatine soothed. His head swivelled easily as Obi-Wan paced the large room that served as lounge, turbolift lobby and waterfall viewing platform at one end of the floor currently housing the Jedi.

Obi-Wan looked up as he turned at the far end of his orbit. His face, normally cast by long years of experiences as Qui-Gon Jinn’s apprentice into the serene mask of a Jedi centered and secure in the Force, was wide open in worry.

Palpatine marvelled again at the young man, and the subtle currents running through him like veins of gold through stone. He was closed to the Force, had to be with two powerful Masters just down the hallway and yet he felt Kenobi’s distress. It was beautiful.

“I thought he might have come to you.” Kenobi fretted, unconsciously twisting a sandy bundle of fabric. “Or Her Highness. I just, it has just been…” he tapered off, his force presence run through with ripples of loss and fear, and yes…. Such a pretty ochre shade of anger and guilt.

“Anakin is wiser than his years.” Palpatine filled his voice with the soothing that had worked such wonders on Queen Amidala and so many tedious Senate committees. “He was quite all right before the Jedi came into his life, and removed him from his mother. And since the Council forbid his training, and the death of Master Jinn, I suspect that he feels a little betrayed.” He nodded towards Obi-Wan’s crumpled bundle. “What was it to be, the Agri-Corps?”

Oh yes, Obi-Wan’s face grew still for a moment. Then the look of worry that seemed most natural to him returned. “He worried that he was still a slave. I was glad to be able to explain that he was free, and then…” he gestured to the window and the storm clouds still hanging over the city.

Palpatine chuckled softly. “I imagine he just wanted a taste of freedom. No doubt you recall that desire from your youth, Master Kenobi. Theed is a safe city. I had a good boyhood here myself. He will return when he has had his fill.”

“He has training to begin.” Obi-Wan said, a stubborn set returning to his shoulders. “There is a time for such antics, but we have work to do.” He sighed, tired. “Perhaps you are correct, Chancellor. I suppose he has had very little time for leisure.”

Palpatine smiled, clasping Kenobi on his shoulder as he moved towards the turbolift tube. “I suppose not. I’m certain he will return in time.” _And if not_ , he added to himself, feeling without any need to exert his senses the roiling, nearly-at-critical-mass, plasma sensation of Anakin’s presence in the force. _Perhaps his destiny is not with the Jedi after all. All is as I will and the force allows, after all_.

*

Anakin had focused on what he needed to find, and his feet, although most probably the force had led him there. Theed did not have a commercial space port the way Mos Espa did. This was even smaller than the area they’d found to land ships in the Gungan swamps and the ground was even more unstable. Pontoons, their edges lit up, the gangways out to them shaped like curling vines, held ships of varying sizes. Mainly small, probably shuttles for larger ships that had been able to escape the blockade.

Despite the brackish smell of the river water, he felt more settled than he had since Master Jinn had taken him from Tatooine. These were his smells; oils, engines in one stage or another of heading towards burnout and seizing up, ozone, and his noises; the varying half-pidgin languages of spacers and mechanics with stolen words of Huttese and Basic and Rodarian and Boccee that summed things up with clarity and heart. So different to the clipped clear voices of the Jedi and the Naboo, where they said things so precisely, but with much less honesty.

He stepped between and around labouring beings, handing a hydro spanner to a questing hand that stuck out from beneath a landing strut, spraying a few drops of lubricant into a frozen joint as the human mechanic kicked at it, his curse turning into a whoop as it turned freely. Anakin found a quiet space atop some crates to survey his new kingdom. He could choose. He could offer his services to any of the crews, or none of them, and it would be his own decision. He curled up, feeling his face warming, the corners of his mouth splitting in the first smile since winning the Boonta Eve Classic.

“Hey. Blondie!” The voice from below was squeaky, but entirely without threat, and belonged to a rodent-like, furred being of about Anakin’s own height. A Squib, Anakin remembered from the few times they had come to bargin with Watto. “Trade you a battle droid head for the rolly-droid actuator you got there.”

Anakin glanced down at his bag and looked up, impressed. To be able to identify the specialist part from the end sticking out of the satchel, the Squib was a pretty good bush mechanic himself. He climbed down. “Plenty of battle droid heads all over the city,” he scoffed. “Not exactly a tempting trade.”

The Squib cocked it’s – Anakin wasn’t sure of its gender, and both took on trading and mechanic roles – head, large ears turning and showing sharp needle teeth in a gesture both grin and friendly threat. They took Anakin’s hand, slowly and pausing at the boy’s instinctive flinch, before bringing his palm up to their face, stoking it back and forth.

Flashes of image and emotion passed through the boy’s newly used sense of the force. He saw the Squib ship – small enough to actually land on the pontoon, but not quite in a flyable state, and felt the Squib’s feelings of curiosity – when they considered him and of deep affection as they recalled the extended family crammed aboard the ship, noisy but caring.

“Lots of battle droid bits all over the city, you bet.” The Squib agreed. “Many bits, many broken things to make into better things.”

Anakin waited. This was better. This was his language and he had the sense that they wanted to offer him something. But the deal was all and the haggle the highlight of Squib transactions.

“Clan saw, you bet. Clever brain, little hands.” The Squib reached out, claw touching the end of the droideka piece. “Work with Squib clan, plenty food, dry sleep, both eyes shut.”

It sounded good. So had going with the Jedi. He didn’t have much faith in his own decision making right this minute. But it was something, and it was something he knew intimately. “Maybe.” He said. “Food and a bed, for working with you. And I want… _when had he even been able to use those words in his entire life?_... I want rights to sell anything I make from scrap in any offtime. And take me with you when you leave.”

To his surprise, the Squib didn’t hesitate, spitting into and holding out a clawed upper limb so quickly that Anakin regretted not asking for more. “Come, then. Need you and your clever tongue, right now you bet.”

Anakin shook the damp furry palm, and followed the Squip deeper into the floating docks.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks Redrikki for such an amazing story starter! You captured 9 year old Anakin's voice so beautifully and the tensions and potentials were just endless.  
> I hope my continuation inspires someone to continue/end this story in a very cool way :)  
> For those of you unfamilar with the Squib, they turn up mostly in the later stories of the Legends EU -Han and Leia have some great interactions with them in Tatooine Ghost. They have a facinating clan culture, and the idea of Anakin interacting with them was too cool to pass up. http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Squib
> 
> Enjoy and I'll be watching closely to see who takes up the next part!


End file.
